Whimsical Obligations

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What of these vows we make. Real or imagined. Spoken or, assumed. Promises behind cupped hands.

I still collect…broken things.

My vain attempt at avenging secrets I would rather not keep.

All whimsical obligations.

Random boughs on a trail to somewhere else.

Court ordered family lies.

Often seen in charming disguise.

Ironic, but away from the pledge, I never feared that I would not make it home.

Comfort came with words and song.

I am used to collecting used things.

Marred, scarred, dented.

I built with pride..this broken home.

My brother, my sister,

mainstream.

Outwardly able to live a lie.

Able to forgo…the why.

Still in the darkness of sleeplessness,

their anger cries.

UnWanted Guest

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More to a vestibule for the dying

More to the communion

More of obsession’s admiration

More to those who fly

More to those who do not ponder why

…

Over and above…I keep the gods lowercase

Over and above, the stone dead and gone

…

Less of a willingness to comply

Less of puppy’s in the window

Less photographic harmony

Less bouncing joy on bended knee

…

“Let me go”  I say, more or less

There is a quiet place, more or less

Oh, sporadic the occasions of an unwanted guest

gravestone pitch

 

 

Anger a Sleeping Lion

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I put anger in my pocket way down deep…

where as I lion, I hope, it will wane and sleep.

Atop of my head and nuzzled down tight with a knit cap. annoyance is no longer a friend.

I try to hide it behind the saltines and the mean drive by’s in the mind…

Anger’s persistence is not kind.

Into the woods, a daily walk.

Yet, a clandestine obscurity invades what I have not.

I have not the restfulness that wills itself to my soul.

Everywhere, everywhere, barren holes.

I will get to the end of my reach…one of these minutes.

Indignation will put the well-traveled deep…until weathered with forgiveness.

Booking Forgiveness

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If this, single entity, called forgiveness…

were a book.tc cannon 4

It would be open…

amassed with complex, simple and congeal words.

Each letter…sharp as, the finest blade.

Still…the voyage of…forgetting…would not be saved.

I could, we could, the winds could…embody the same chapter…

The same verse…over and over.

Understanding would stand alone…misspelled.

Ill behaved.

Oh, how I have hoped…to pen the story of a world…

‘giving back all that it took.’

Chapters filled with mended hearts.

A romantic plot where love builds a home.

And, pain is driven be car…

far, far, away.imageedit_103_6772513128

But vision is lost…current day…in the burning building of thought.

Leaving a closed book…

With hope being accosted.

A victim of high cost.

 

Beneath the Bridge

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Shallow is the heartbeat that rages a distended river.

Darkened and hearkened, by space and time.

A silence to the mossy flow.

And,  weathered innocence the only true forgiver.

Amidst the cool watery breath.

Laps of a sauntering solitude…

Await a crested wake.

Pockets of  hushed calm within the raging river.

Weathered innocence the only true forgiver.